


lead me back to you

by Sunflower_Meadows



Series: I find you when I'm asleep [1]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Best Friends, Dream Smp, Dream is an asshole, Ghost Wilbur Soot, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Manberg-Pogtopia War on Dream Team SMP (Video Blogging RPF), Swearing, Tommy is sad, Tommy needs a hug, TommyInnit Misses Toby Smith | Tubbo, YOUR HONOR THEY'RE BEST FRIENDS, no beta we die like the people of l'manburg, no shipping you fools, tommy has adhd
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:00:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27982698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sunflower_Meadows/pseuds/Sunflower_Meadows
Summary: Exile is lonely. Dream's an arse.These are two facts Tommy knows.The third fact is one that he doesn't allow himself to dwell on very much, and that is: Tommy misses Tubbo. He misses him more than words can say, and Tubbo hasn't come to visit Tommy once.Tommy is alone, and he tries not to think about it.Then, suddenly, he isn't.
Series: I find you when I'm asleep [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2193216
Comments: 12
Kudos: 152





	lead me back to you

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I wrote this little plot bunny out at midnight yesterday, then proofread it this morning! Writing in present tense got pretty difficult at times, but I needed to see this through to the end! This entire thing was based off of the fact that the current exile arc is making me very sad, and Tommy just needs a hug.
> 
> There's also quite a bit of mild swearing in this, but that's just the Tommy Spice™.
> 
> I hope you enjoy!
> 
> \- Meadows

Tommy is alone.

Wilbur doesn’t count, because the ghost isn’t really _there_ no matter how much the boy wants him to be. He’s just...a figment of Tommy’s imagination, or something. Probably.

It doesn’t matter, anyway.

It’s been two months since his exile, his isolation, and the only person who has come to visit him in that time is Dream. The man shows up every bloody week, with his cold white mask and enviable netherite gear, and he tells Tommy to throw his armor in the pit. Every week, Tommy does so, taking the time as Dream lights the dynamite to mourn the destruction of his progress yet again. So many hours down in the mines searching for scraps of ore to smelt, all gone every seven days.

The blisters on his hands burn at the memory, and his fingers twitch in phantom pain by his sides. Tommy watches forlornly as Dream stands back from the pit, gloved hands covering his ears to block the sound of the explosion. Tommy doesn’t bother to do the same.

He lets the blast ring in his ears as he stares at the place where the product of days of effort lay in unrecognizable bits of shrapnel. Maybe he could use the pieces as scrap to mend his next set.

He doubts it.

A hand settles on Tommy’s shoulder, and his instincts jerk him violently out of its grasp before his wild eyes catch the figure of Dream with his hand outstretched. Blistered palms that had grasped for his sword subconsciously let the cool hilt go, the weapon sliding back into its sheath. It was just Dream. Dream wouldn’t drag him out across the ocean just to kill him now, it’s fine.

_I’m fine._ Tommy’s hands shake at the sudden rush of adrenaline, but he hides it by sticking them in his pockets. The boy’s shoulders don’t fully relax (they never do), but he faces the green clad man beside him.

“Fuck you, what do you want?” Tommy’s voice is hostile, but they both know there’s no bite behind his bark, just the hollow performance of a boy who no longer stands as tall and proud as he used to.

Dream’s voice comes back to him muffled through the mask, and still ringing in Tommy’s ears with the effects of the recent explosion. “I was calling your name and you didn’t respond. I asked if there was anything you wanted to do today.”

_Yeah,_ he thinks, _I want to go home._ He bites back the words and blinks away the sudden moistness in his eyes, snapping, “I want you to leave me alone, bastard.”

“Oh come on now. You don’t really want that,” the older man laughs, but without a smile to put to the cheerful noise it just sounds empty. Chills run down Tommy’s spine, and he tears his gaze away with discomfort to look at the grass intently.

“Fuck off!”

“If I fuck off you’ll be all alone, Tommy.”

“I can handle myself, you prick! Go away!”

“I’m your friend, Tommy.”

He snaps his gaze back up to Dream, a small spark of his old fire flickering behind those blue eyes. “Fuck you! You’re not my “friend”, you’ve never been my friend! You’re just an arsehole, and I fucking hate you.”

Dream seems to be taken somewhat aback by Tommy’s sudden flare of temper by the way he doesn’t speak for a moment, and if Tommy’s being honest he is too. He’s surprised at his own sudden flare of rage when Dream called himself Tommy’s _friend,_ like the green bastard hadn’t already taken everything from him that he possibly could. Like he hadn’t forced Tommy into a rickety old rowboat in the middle of a rainy night and rowed them across the sea to drop Tommy on an island, all alone.

Maybe once, they could’ve been pals of some sort. Dream is a complete and utter dickhead, but even Tommy knows that the big man can be pretty funny sometimes despite it. That time was gone now though, if it had even ever existed. Now all that’s left in Tommy is bitter rage and the remnants of wars long past between the two.

Dream lets the silence stretch, and Tommy feels nervous again. He hopes that Dream isn’t going to blow up his tent or...something. Maybe his jukebox? That would suck. He could build it all again like he did his armor every week (of course he could), but then he would have nowhere to stay for a while. He’d have to sleep on the cold dirt and pray it doesn’t rain horribly again like it did yesterday. Tommy fiddles with the hem of his shirt and his throat constricts, making it impossible for him to say any more with which to dig his own grave.

The tension builds and builds as the silence remains unbroken, and Tommy’s starting to get genuinely worried for his possessions.

Then, “Alright Tommy. I’ll leave you alone.”

Tommy can’t believe his ears. “Really?!” His hands still and drop back to his sides.

A nod, and then Dream is walking away towards the beach, back to the boat he arrived in. Tommy feels a grin spread across his face and he waves an enthusiastic goodbye, even if Dream can’t see it. “Good riddance bitch! Yeah!” He calls out gleefully.

Dream is really, actually, leaving him alone! If the green bastard kept to his word, that meant no more explosions! No more tension trying to walk on eggshells around a man who could kill him in the blink of an eye! Not that it wouldn’t be an epic battle, of course, Tommy could totally take Dream in 1v1. Wilbur might’ve said otherwise, but he’s dead so he’s definitely not allowed to have an opinion on the matter.

As Tommy watches Dream sail away, his heart feels light and he beams from ear to ear in satisfaction. Then, a thought strikes him and the dwindling figure on the waves suddenly fills his stomach with dread. He’d never have to see Dream again, sure. Never have to uncomfortably try to do his daily tasks with the older man looming over his shoulder, or have to suffer through the confusing small talk he tried to make with Tommy on days the boy didn’t have much to do.

Dream, though… Dream is the only person who ever came to visit him at all.

If Dream’s out of the picture, who does he have left? Wilbur? He shakes his head, tearing his eyes away from the ocean and turning towards the path back. Wilbur doesn’t count. More often than not he isn’t even there at base, and when he _is_ it’s only to talk about their “holiday” away from the mainland. The ghost is nice enough, but it just isn’t the same as it would have been if Wilbur, _his_ Wilbur, was here.

With each step away from the beach, Tommy’s eyes water, but he refuses to cry. Big, massive men like him don’t cry. He’s too cool to even think about it.

* * *

The sun has already begun to set by the time Tommy makes it out of the mines that day. His bag is full of iron ore, and his soot-streaked face is clearly bone-tired as he clambers out of the entrance. He takes a moment to set down his bag and just breathe, reveling in the fresh air of the outside world.

After a long moment of just breathing, he opens the bulging backpack at his feet, to double check that everything he needs is there. Iron ore, check. Bones for bonemeal, check. Rotten flesh? How did that get there? He wrinkles his nose at the smelly meat and tosses it unceremoniously into a nearby bush, making a mental note to wash his bag out later. Can’t have his bag smelling all nasty, can he? Only pussies have smelly equipment, and he isn’t a pussy thank-you-very-much.

With a quick wipe of his hand in the dewy grass to clean it, he performs a quick check up of the rest of his bag, the things he’d had on him before going down to mine that afternoon. The inventory check reveals that he hasn’t forgotten any of his major tools down in the mine like last week, so he should be fine to go back. Wilbur had chewed him out pretty thoroughly for that one, and Tommy had let him, because it’d reminded him of his old Wilbur.

Of the Wilbur who would ruffle his hair fondly whenever Tommy got excited, or get all weird and protective when Tommy got sick and had to lie in for the day. That Wilbur felt so deeply about everything, and now that he’s a ghost he's just so bloody _passive._ It weirds Tommy out. The little bit of exasperation and annoyance he’d shown when chiding Tommy for losing the diamond pickaxe the boy had spent weeks mining for had been embarrassingly comforting.

His teeth clench at the reminder of the bittersweet memory, and Tommy tosses the flap of his bag closed. He swings it onto his back again for the trek back to base, settling in for a long walk. The bag seems to weigh more than it did previously, but maybe that’s just his aching body talking. A day in the mines does nobody any good, especially when you don’t have anyone to take your place when you need a break.

He misses mining with Tubbo. Big T would usually do most of the work, but Tommy was always quick to jump in when the smaller boy seemed to be tiring himself out. He wonders suddenly how Tubbo is doing back home, if Tubbo even misses him. He hasn’t even come to visit _once_ in the entire time Tommy’s been exiled so far. The others, he could explain not coming to see him. But Tubbo? Shit, that’s his best mate. Maybe Big T is doing fine without him, who knows.

He squares his shoulders against the unpleasant thought, his gut squirming.

He shakes his head fiercely from side to side to rid himself of the thought. _No! No, no, no! He misses you Tommy, he’s probably busy or something. He_ is _the president, he would come see you if he could._

But then Tommy remembers the word, “Selfish,” and suddenly he’s not too sure.

He remembers the look in Tubbo’s eyes when Tommy had gotten too heated in the moment and said the discs were the only thing he cared about. He also remembers Tubbo’s answering response of, “Mm, yeah, the _one_ thing,” and his stomach feels like it’s full of stones.

He recalls the words after the verdict, “Dream, please escort Tommy out of my country,” and he has to sit down on a fallen tree as his knees threaten to buckle under him. Sweat beads on his top lip in the humid night air, the sun having made its final descent over the horizon just a few minutes ago.

_Maybe Big T hates me?_

His hands tremble as he stares at them in horror, the blisters from this morning joined by new ones from his most recent trip into the mine. The skin is red and raw from the near daily hard labor, and Tommy catches himself thinking that Tubbo’s hands had looked like this back when they were building the old L’Manburg. Back when the world was new to them, back before the election or the festival or the final battle. Back before they had even first officially won their emancipation from Dream’s iron fist.

Tubbo has always worked so hard for L’Manburg, even from the beginning when it was just the van and some potions. He wasn’t exactly the best fighter (definitely Tommy, he’s just the best and he can’t hold that over Big T), or the charismatic leader keeping up their morale (Wilbur, _his_ Wilbur, fuck he misses the big man), but Tubbo always does the best he can at any moment and works until he gets it right. That’s just the way Big T has always been.

Tommy’s leg starts to bounce anxiously as he thinks about it, actually.

Why does Tubbo even hang around him? He’s clearly much quieter than Tommy, much nicer in general. More well behaved. He could be friends with anyone, and he chooses Tommy? Why?

Tommy is annoying, he knows that. Everyone says it often enough, and it must be true from the looks on all their faces whenever he walks into a room. He doesn’t try to be, but sometimes his energy gets away from him and he goes all over the place. He yells when he’s excited, when he’s nervous, when he’s angry.

He bites his lip until he feels a bit of a sting, and the fizzing rush of energy beneath his skin starts to ebb away slowly, though his mind continues to run just as fast.

Maybe that’s why no one has visited him yet. Maybe they all secretly hated his presence in L’Manburg and they’re _glad_ now that he’s been exiled. They probably are.

  
Fuck.

The skin of his lip splits, and Tommy tastes blood.

* * *

Dream won’t be coming around anymore, but that doesn’t magically give Tommy more armor to use for tonight. In the days after Dream’s tormentous visits, Tommy usually stays up all night since he knows without any armor to protect him he’s practically a sitting duck in his tent. It probably isn’t good practice to sleep in armor, but Tommy doesn’t have any guarantee of safety out here with no mates or walls to ensure that mobs don’t spawn where he sleeps.

At least he’d never have to do this again after tonight.

Torch grids are one of the many things he misses about L’Manburg. These days, all his coal goes immediately to the furnaces so he can smelt iron for the next week’s batch of armor. Tommy’s pretty proud of the little surplus he has going just in case something happens to the mine, or in case he ends up having completely stripped it one day.

However, his constant smelting also means he sometimes needs wood to fuel the furnace when his coal supply runs out. Unfortunately, he realizes when he gets back to Logstedshire that this seems to be one of those times.

Usually, Wilbur tells him when they’re running low, but the ghost hasn’t actually been around for the last few weeks or so. Originally Tommy had freaked out, but now he’s starting to see it as a bit of a good sign. Maybe he’s getting more sane? Probably. If anything, constant work is probably good for keeping your mind off of things and shit. Or whatever.

God, he needs to keep his mind off of so many things.

A good few hours chopping trees will be great for him. His muscles will grow, and muscles are pretty cool. He’ll be such a big man. Tommy grabs his axe from the tent, and sets off into the treeline by base with a stubborn set to his shoulders. He doesn't want to take down any too close to Logstedshire, so he lets himself walk for a good half hour before he actually starts to do any work.

He’ll go coal mining tomorrow afternoon. Wood’s way too useful to be wasted as emergency fuel for very long.

As the night progresses, Tommy finds himself getting more and more tired. The axe starts to feel a little too heavy in his hands, and the blisters on his fingers are growing bigger by the minute. His back hurts as well, and Tommy finds himself wishing someone was here to at least keep him company while he chopped wood.

It’s not an out of place thought for the boy, but he hasn’t had one like in since Wilbur had disappeared. With the ghost out of sight, Tommy had let himself put the dead man out of mind as well. If he can’t think about Wilbur, he can’t think about L’Manburg. If he can’t think about L’Manburg, he can’t think about...Tubbo.

Suddenly, Tommy just feels exhausted. The axe is too much to lift again, and the grass below looks so inviting. His eyelids feel like stones are weighing them down. It wouldn’t hurt to just sit down for a second.

_Just for a moment,_ he thinks, dropping to lean up against the tree and letting his eyes drift shut.

* * *

Tommy knows he’s dreaming when he sees L’Manburg.

He doesn’t care, because he’s _home._ He can see Wilbur’s sewer house from here, and the market, and suddenly he’s running.

His feet pound on the wood of the bridges linking the platforms that make up the remodeled city, but no sound accompanies it. He feels weightless and hopeful as he turns the corner and stops in front of Tubbo’s presidential office, heart fluttering in his chest. Even in a dream, he’s nervous, but he doesn’t feel the rush of too-much energy that usually accompanies the emotion. His hand doesn’t even shake as he presses open the door, stepping inside.

A poster of a bee with a cheesy slogan hangs on the wall, and it’s dangerously messy in here with the way papers and items are strewn about, but Tommy doesn’t see any of it. All he sees is Tubbo.

His best mate looks exactly how he had on the day Tommy had been exiled, though the unchanged image isn’t too surprising considering the fact that Tommy is dreaming. Tubbo stands behind his desk, and he has his hands clasped behind his back as he watches Tommy.

“H-Hey man…! Um…” Tommy is nervous. Tommy is afraid Tubbo will send him out again, banish him from his home for a second time. It won’t hurt any less in a dream than it had in real life, he knows for a fact that he couldn’t stay whole after a second instance. A lifetime ago, he wouldn’t have even let the thought cross his mind, but everything about what he knows of his mate is unsure these days. Flimsy.

Then, Tubbo smiles, and it’s heart achingly familiar. “Hey Tommy,” he says softly.

Tommy fumbles with his words for a moment, and he finally feels his leaden legs let him move closer. He feels a bit dizzy, like he’s staring at the sun directly. “I missed you,” he croaks painfully. “Even if you’re not real, I missed you.”

The dream version of his best mate in the whole world says with that same warm smile, “I know.”

“Why did you banish me? Why did you listen to Dream’s threats? We’ve beat him before.”

“I don’t know, big man. That’s a question for your Tubbo.”

Tommy feels like crying. “I can’t ask him! You know that already, though, don’t you.”

“Yeah. I know.”

“Can…” Tommy bites his lip, and he feels utterly pathetic for his selfish request when he whispers, “Can you pretend, just for a moment, that you’re him?”

“I can do you one better, I’m already Tubbo! I’m all your memories of him, all the good parts that you’ve been holding onto for so long.” The shorter boy beams, and steps out from behind his desk. He opens his arms. “And I already know what you want, so c’mere big man.”

Tommy practically runs to the dream Tubbo and falls into his arms. His chin is tucked overtop his mate’s head and his arms wrap around Tubbo’s middle decisively as his hands clutch at the back of his presidential suit jacket.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers into Tubbo’s hair. Tears wet his cheeks so he squeezes his eyes shut tight. “I’m so sorry Big T. I should’ve just done what you said, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

His mate chuckles into his shirt and warm hands pat his back. “I thought you didn't say sorry.”

Tommy just hugs his mate tighter. “I should’ve, to you.”

* * *

Tommy wakes with tears on his lashes and an ache deep in his chest that can’t be attributed to the chill in the air. He feels empty, and in the silence of the night around him, he knows he is even more alone than before.

His subconscious was so fucking cruel, making that dream of Tubbo. For letting him feel forgiven for even a moment.

His back hurts from the way he’s laying flat on it in the grass, night sky twinkling mockingly above him.

“Shut the fuck up,” he berates it half-heartedly.

It doesn’t respond. It’s a fucking sky. He’s going insane.

He groans, rolling onto his side and wincing when the action pulls some aggravated muscle in his back, resulting in a sharp pain. “Owww…”

He’s working too hard. If he had Tubbo here it would be easier. Tommy frowns at the intrusive thought about Tubbo, blaming it on the dream he’d just had and his thoughts of the younger boy before the accidental nap.

The bush rustles as Tommy yawns, and even despite the pain in his back Tommy is up on his feet in a moment, sword prepared in his hand. His eyes track for movement, and then they find the source of the noise. His sword’s tip drops slowly to the dirt and he stares in slack jawed wonder at Tubbo, who is standing at the edge of the clearing and looking incredibly nervous.

This Tubbo looks so different from the one in his dream, and not for the better. Where the one he had dreamt of had been neat and well-kept, this version of his friend looks like he’s been through the wringer. Dark bags hang under his tired eyes, and his suit is wrinkled in a way that suggests he had slept in it recently. His hair is messy, and it looks a bit like some idiot had tried and failed to comb it into submission before giving up.

In his scarred face several incredibly visible emotions are warring, expression morphing from elated to worried to nervous in the matter of a few seconds.

“Hey Tommy…”

Tommy licks his lips to wet them as he stares at Tubbo, dangerous hope swelling inside of him. “Are you...real?”

Tubbo shifts his balance from one foot to the other, peering unsurely at Tommy. “Y-yeah? I’m real, big ma- Tommy.” Tubbo’s tone is formal behind the nerves, and the switch from his nickname to his real name made Tommy swallow harshly. They’d never been formal with each other before.

“You’re, uh… You’re here. Away from the mainland.”

“Yeah, I- I…” Tubbo takes a deep breath and a stuttering step forward. That’s when Tommy sees it, a compass clutched in the other boy’s hand. The needle glows a dim purple in the moonlit clearing, and a small tag hangs from the knob at the top.

Tommy owns one exactly like it. A compass that points to “his Tubbo”, forever, for when he misses his mate the most. It _should_ be in his ender chest right now.

Distantly, Tommy notes that Tubbo had been revving up to say something, but energy burns trails of lightning under his skin and he feels like he’ll burst at any second so he blurts out, “Where did you get that?”

His finger points accusingly to the compass, his gaze affixed to the glow of the needle in horror. _Is Tubbo here to accuse me of...of tracking him or something? Is he going to insist I move even further away? Am I going to have to go to the snowy plains up north? Fuck, I don’t want to move somewhere cold!_

Tubbo startles, visibly taken aback. The hand holding the compass curls protectively to his chest, as if he’s afraid Tommy will take it from him, which is unreasonable because it’s Tommy’s in the first place. “Wilbur gave it to me, I- It was a present, I’m sorry-”

At this, Tommy blinks. Hard. Maybe if he blinks long enough this will make sense.

“What? So it’s not mine?”

“N-No? It’s mine?”

“What does the tag say?”

Tubbo shrinks into himself, making the suit look too large on him as he replies, “Um, it… It says… Look, Wilbur wrote it and I-”

“What does it _say_ Tubbo, Jesus Christ!”

Tubbo mumbles something too quiet for Tommy to hear all the way across the clearing. He stomps forward (sheathing his sword as he does so), filling with insistent energy that buzzes through his brain as he stops five feet away from Tubbo, who looks distinctly like a frightened rabbit.

“One more time, Tubbo. What’s it _say?”_

Tubbo looks at the grass and just sticks out the hand holding the compass wordlessly, his shoulders hunched up defensively around his ears. The purple glow illuminates the small note tied to the knob on top.

‘Your Tommy,’ it reads.

“Oh,” Tommy says, dumbstruck. “...Oh.”

Tubbo retracts his hand quickly and doesn’t meet his eyes. “Wilbur said it would lead to you. I guess it worked.”

Tommy is confused. “Wilbur did?”

“Yeah, he came over to L’Manburg a week or two ago to give it to me.”

Well that explains what had happened to the ghost.

Something hopeful lights in Tommy’s chest, filling him with warmth and making his stupid eyes water again. “Did you… Did you come for _me_ then?”

Tubbo looks like the confused one now. “Of course I did. I miss you, man. Dream wouldn’t tell me where he’d taken you, I was super worried.”

Tommy grins widely, and it’s probably a little manic but he doesn’t care one whit. “You came for _me!”_

Then he’s hugging Tubbo, and it’s so much better than a dream. The smaller boy smells kind of shitty (but also like honey and old books under it all, just like he remembers), but he’s warm and present and real, so it doesn’t even matter. He’s sure he doesn’t smell any better, anyway. Tommy’s hands clutch the back of Tubbo’s suit jacket tightly, and can feel the other's grasp at the back of his t-shirt in turn with the same franticness. There are tears wetting his shirt, but he doesn’t mind because Tubbo’s hair is getting the same treatment anyway as the two boys hold each other tight.

“Tubbo! Big T! Mate! I missed you!”

“Tommy! I missed you too! I’m so sorry I exiled you!”

The word still sends a pang through Tommy’s heart to hear from Tubbo’s mouth, but he returns with a sniffle, “Yeah, fuck you. Guess I’m sorry I burned George’s house down or whatever.”

Tubbo laughs wetly into Tommy’s shoulder. “I thought you didn't say sorry. Said it was for pussies.”

Tommy shivers, remembering similar words from a different version of Tubbo, and held his mate impossibly closer.

“Only to you.” A moment passed, and then as an afterthought, “I’m not a big puss though.”

And this time, he can feel Tubbo smile into his shoulder. “If you say so, big man. If you say so.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hi again! If you liked this, please drop a comment telling me what you thought! If you didn't, please still drop a comment so I can try and improve! I hope Tommy and Tubbo were pretty in character in this, that was something I struggled with a bit when I wrote it. 
> 
> (Also, if you came here from my other work, I'm sorry! I will totally get on that soon, I promise. Writing a multi-chapter is so much harder than a one shot...)
> 
> Have a great day and remember to drink water!
> 
> \- Meadows


End file.
